the shades on the window
are just enough
these days—
to keep us looking out of
rectangular strips
for signs of life
for signs of waste
[our insides]
wasting away
where is the earth
the seeds and the plants
the luscious green
that keeps us teemed
brimming
the droplets on the end
keeping our mouths
nourished
from the knowing
that there is water out there
for fields of growing
my shape may be lessening
but my insides are
flubber
subcutaneous skin
forming into cellulite
thoughts dropping like
sludge
by the wayside
movements from one station
to the next
the bed,
to the couch,
to the chair,
to the bed,
hyper
in
ac
tiv
ity
words are stuck in sludge
tongue locked in super glue
Rs R Ls
Ss R Ts—
the train that was used
to well oiled wheels
good to go
on well oiled tracks
is swaying
and sloshing
syntax cells
teetering
to the next port
now with no name
fattening;
shortening—100%
my limbs and my head
a clay figurine
plump and pudgy;
suddenly this table
with gretel and hansel
with plates to the brim
of glutton and sloth
don’t seem too good to me
as they did from the outside
looking in